Ask The Haybale: Is My Roommate Trying To Kill Me In My Sleep A Kink Thing Or Do They Really Hate Me?

The first time you wake up, knife to your throat, you think “wow, I hope this doesn’t stain my sheets.” You’re still not sure if your comforter can go into the washing machine, so you definitely don’t want to get blood on it. That would certainly deter the roster that you definitely have. Luckily, the shadowy figure slinks back into her bed. You panic – it’s important to fall asleep before she starts to snore.

The second time, you're not sure if there is a knife to your throat or a cold can to soothe your fever from the infectious disease she gave you. You can’t differentiate between the two because your eyes are covered. For a second, you’re grateful—this is the first sleep you’ve gotten all semester because you can’t see the goddamn overhead fluorescent lights she keeps on to hold you hostage. Then, eyes fully opened, you realize you’ve been blindfolded. 

You try to scream. There’s something in your mouth. A gag, maybe, but it tastes like a dirty sock—it’s probably just her pillowcase that she told you she only washed once the first semester. After that, she said she didn’t know what detergent was. For a second you think about praying to God. But that would be pointless, he’s already let Satan infiltrate your sleeping quarters. You picture Ephraim, his neatly trimmed moustache. He knew how to wash his sheets. You send him a plea—if Maud can mandate PE classes, why not hygiene lectures. Why not hygiene seminars, in small quarters to instill a sense of shame. Not my small living quarters though, I’m trying to move out. 

The third time, you noticed that there’s something off about your Sleepytime Classic Herbal Tea. Normally, it’s a blend of delicate chamomile, cool spearmint and fresh lemongrass. This time, there’s a bite that no amount of organic wildflower honey can hide. Instead, you settle for tossing and turning, trying to avoid staring at your roommate’s creepy Victorian doll collection. When your roommate enters, she immediately turns on the lights. Before you fully return to consciousness you immediately register that your authentic sleepytime bear nightcap is askew, already on the verge of falling off of the tippy top of your head. You are already on the verge. When you shoot up, confused by the latest breach of your already fragile roommate contract, she seems surprised to see you. 

“Didn’t you have that tea that helps you sleep tonight?” She asks. The question reveals a shocking level of insight for a girl who has literally never asked you a question about yourself. You know how much money her dad made last year and the name of the hamster that died when she was eleven, but she probably doesn’t even know that you’re a prospective Econ and Psych double major with a concentration in Envi. 

When you shake your head, she seems mildly annoyed. “Well, you totally should.” She starts to pull on her pajamas, muttering about how annoying it was to take the Sunday Shopping Shuttle to buy bleach.

You realize the reason why your sleepytime bear nightcap no longer stays on the tippy top of your head is because your head shape has changed this last semester. You’re going to have to get one of those helmets for deformed babies. You felt your pillow feel different, but you thought that the frosh quad washing machine was just tough on them. Once shaken out, you find that fluffy sleepytime bear down feathers have been replaced by jagged pieces of marble from the steps of Chapin. 

Now that you think of it, she is in a WGSS class this semester. Maybe this is for her final paper. you’ve seen some drafts on her desk — titled something like,  “The Intimacy of Fear: Exploring Do(r)m Room Power Dynamics in the Post-Capitalist Surveillance State.”  This can’t be how it ends. You can’t be murdered by someone whose hardest assignment is watching porn. 

You check her LinkedIn. At first, nothing interesting: #OpenToWork. You figured. She spends too much time terrorizing you to have a job. But then, you scroll to her skills section. There it is: Dominatrix in Training. Your suffering, the hard rock you have begun to sleep on has been mined so she can demonstrate her soft skills. All for a post on her LinkedIn that begins “I am so excited to announce…”